Dragon Bones

by Lisa See

  The others departed, leaving David to stand watch. But it wasn’t long before he relinquished his post to a heavyset man who looked like he’d done a fair amount of arm-twisting in his day. David threaded his way back toward the second courtyard. Except for the constant beating of rain, an eerie stillness had settled over the hotel.

  By now everyone had been pulled together in the dining room. What had been a peaceful oasis last night was filled with the jabbering of different languages and dialects. The foreigners sat together. The hotel employees stood in a large cluster, and—between the maids, bellmen, kitchen workers, laundry workers, and waitresses—they outnumbered the guests about ten to one. Policemen were stationed along the walls.

  Hulan addressed the crowd in Chinese first. “I am Inspector Liu Hulan. I come from Beijing, so I hope you will forgive my accent.” Though her tones were pure, David suspected that many of these people could barely understand her. “One of your foreign guests has been found dead.”

  A low murmur rose from the employees, and David saw the foreigners exchange glances.

  “I don’t need to remind you of the laws of our country,” Hulan cautioned. “‘Leniency to those who confess, severity to those who hide.’ But I want to make myself very clear. I do not suspect any of you. However, because you work here you have special information. Together you are the eyes and ears of the guesthouse. If you have seen or heard something, I need to know what that is so I can help our foreign friends. In this way we can show our superiority to the outside world.”

  Hulan always knew the right times to haul out nationalism, and this was one of them, which became even clearer as she continued.

  “You are Chinese. You are responsible for the welfare of our foreign guests. For this reason I must ask of you a profound favor. I hope you will let me speak to our foreign guests first.” Naturally no one protested. “I would like you all to wait here. The men from the Public Security Bureau will begin interviewing you. You will be cooperative. I will return later, and we will speak together again.”

  Hulan switched to English. “Miss Sinclair has been murdered. Although Dr. Ma has told you that Brian’s death was an accident, I hope you will now believe me when I tell you that these are not random acts.” If they had any remaining doubts, she added, “The deaths of two foreigners from one small hotel cannot be a coincidence. I hope you will listen to me this time when I tell you to be careful. I am also asking for your help. I want to speak with each of you individually. In the meantime, you’re not to discuss this among yourselves. David, Captain Hom, please come with me.”

  Together they left the room and stood in the corridor.

  “Captain, I want to get through the foreigners this morning,” Hulan said. “It’ll be superficial the first go-around, but I’d like to hear what they have to say, even if it’s brief. Do you have people to interview the staff?”

  “I’ll take care of those myself,” he said.

  “I can’t prevent you from doing that,” she replied. “But I’d prefer it if you’d come with me. The foreigners will answer questions more honestly if they see your uniform. I want you there, but I’d appreciate it if you’d let me do the questioning. I have a lot of experience with outsiders. This is why Vice Minister Zai sent me here. It is our duty to respect the central government, is it not?” She didn’t wait for a response but added, “I’d like you to listen and give me your input later.”

  “This is not how we do things in Bashan, but I won’t interfere.”

  “Good! David, who do you think I should talk to first?” Hulan asked.

  David was startled to realize that she planned on doing the interviews without him. He answered, “Angela was the last person to see Lily alive.”

  “Besides us.”

  He heard the recrimination in her voice, but there was nothing that they could or would have done differently.

  “You should go out to the site,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “While you’re still here?”

  They’d always done these things together. She was not only cutting him out of what was happening in the hotel but getting him out of the way entirely.

  “I wish you could hear what these people have to say,” she hastily explained, “but it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to be here.” Then, “But you could track down Dr. Ma for me.”

  “He wasn’t outside?” David asked, though he smarted at being relegated to such an insignificant chore.

  Hulan lifted her hands in puzzlement. “The Jeep was gone when I went to check.”

  “I don’t think we should split up.”

  “As I said, it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to stay.” She didn’t give him a chance to argue. Instead, she turned to Hom. “I’d like you to provide Attorney Stark with a car and a driver.”

  Hom nodded morosely, his disapproval strong on his features.

  “Arrange it now,” Hulan ordered, and Hom left them.

  Hulan turned back to David. “You have the right to question whomever you want to out there.”

  “Hulan—”

  She put a hand on his sleeve. “I have some ideas about all this, but we’ll have to talk about them later.”

  They walked to the lobby. David pulled a couple of chairs together around a low table, delaying in the hope that Hulan would change her mind, but she evaded any further discussion by disappearing behind the front desk to search for paper and pens. Hom came back inside. His jacket and hat were dripping wet. He took them off and offered them to David. “You’ll need these.”

  David thanked Hom, then Hulan said, “I’ll come out to the site later, because we should still see the Wus. Will you wait for me?” She left no room for dissent, and he reluctantly agreed. She kissed his cheek. “Be careful.”

  “You too.” Then David stepped out into the rain.

  A FEW MINUTES LATER HOM RETURNED WITH SU ZHANGQING AND Ge Fei, the two officers who’d first arrived on the scene. They were pale, and Ge still reeked of vomit. Hulan thought their inexperience, as well as the horror of the crime, which only they had seen, might work in their favor when they interviewed the hotel’s employees. She didn’t want the officers pumped up. She didn’t want them intimidating anyone—as if they could, the poor kids. She handed them each a pad and a pen.

  “Write this down exactly and ask only these questions,” she instructed. “What is your name? What are your hours in the hotel? If you were here last night, did you see or hear anything near Room 5? If you were not in the hotel, did you see the deceased in town? Did you see any of the foreigners in town? Have you ever seen the deceased in an argument? Are you a member of the All-Patriotic Society?” Both young men simultaneously raised their eyebrows at this last question, but she didn’t want to explain to them her reason for it yet. “This is the information I want. Nothing more. Nothing less. You will interview everyone. Each interview will get a separate piece of paper. Do you have any questions?”

  The shy boy cleared his throat. “How will they know who we’re talking about?”

  “Su, are you Su?”

  The boy looked at the floor and nodded.

  “You’ve asked a good question,” she said. The praise brought back a little color to the boy’s cheeks. “There were four foreign women in the guesthouse. Three of them are in the dining room. When you go back, have the workers look at the foreign women. The one who’s missing is dead. Any other questions? No? In that case, you’re dismissed. Captain Hom, please bring me Angela McCarthy.”

  Once alone, Hulan tried to collect her thoughts. Yesterday she’d told these people to be careful, and now one of them was dead. Lily could now be added to the list of those Hulan had failed.

  Angela and Hom stepped into the lobby. He motioned her to a chair opposite Hulan, then took a position against the wall. The young woman, who last night had been rather casual about her brother’s death, seemed devastated now, her eyes swollen and red from crying. “How could this happen?” she sobbed. “We were with her….”r />
  She buried her face in her hands and wept, but it wasn’t Hulan’s job to offer comfort.

  “Did you see Lily again after we all said good night?” Hulan asked.

  Angela shook her head and blew her nose into a tissue.

  “Did you talk to her on the phone?”

  Again Angela shook her head.

  “Did you hear anything after you went to bed?”

  Angela wiped her eyes with her palms. Her lips trembled as she exhaled and said, “My room’s in the fifth courtyard. I wouldn’t have heard anything coming from her room.”

  “The killer had access to the hotel,” Hulan informed her. “He put Lily’s body in her room. So I want to ask you again, did you hear anything? Someone talking, footsteps….”

  Angela shook her head, then searched her pockets for another tissue. “Was she raped? Did she suffer?”

  Hulan ignored these inquiries. “Do you remember anything from last night that could relate to what happened to Lily?”

  Angela shook her head again, still weeping quietly. The American was useless in this state.

  “You may go. But, Miss McCarthy, I’m going to want to talk with you again. I’d like to know more about what you and Lily talked about before last night. Will you think about that?”

  Angela stood up, looked around uncertainly, and said, “Thank you.”

  Hom next brought in Stuart Miller, who bounded into the room as though he owned it. “I don’t mean to be unsympathetic, truly I don’t, but I have to get down to the dam today. We’ve had some glitches—a delivery of defective components and possible sabotage. People are counting on me.”

  Hulan motioned to the chair opposite her. “Please sit down.”

  “I prefer to stand, because we’re going to have to make this quick.”

  “Mr. Miller, this is a murder investigation and you’re in China,” she explained patiently. “Don’t be stupid.”

  Stuart sat down, crossed his legs, and—still trying to control the situation—hurriedly began. “I’ve known Lily Sinclair for five years in her capacity at the Cosgrove’s branch in Hong Kong. She’s—she was—a fine young woman.”

  “Did you see or speak to her last night?”

  “No.”

  “I noticed that you and your daughter weren’t in the dining room last night. Where did you have dinner?”

  “I have a boat tied up at the dock. I have my own chef.”

  “Is that your hydrofoil?”

  “It belongs to my company, yes.”

  “Was your daughter on board with you last night?”

  “My daughter and I can’t help you, because we don’t know anything.”

  “You may not know what you know—”

  “Don’t try to trick me, Inspector. I have very powerful friends.”

  “No one’s trying to trick you.” She waited for that to sink in, then added, “You should know I was educated abroad as an attorney. I will respect your rights as though we were in America.”

  “Am I supposed to believe that?”

  “Either you can believe it or we can do this in the manner of your worst nightmare. Don’t forget”—she leaned forward and tapped a finger on his knee—“we are far from any of your powerful friends.”

  Stuart stared at her finger, and she withdrew it. She wondered if she’d pushed him too far, but then he responded in the way she’d anticipated. He laughed long, hard, and appreciatively. As David might have said, Stuart Miller was a successful businessman. He knew how to play his hand.

  “Ask away, Inspector, ask away.”

  But after all that, he had little to offer. He’d last seen Lily the previous afternoon at the dig. Yes, he had a teasing relationship with her, but he felt she’d understood it in the spirit he intended. He couldn’t imagine that Lily had any enemies, certainly none that would be here as part of the archaeological team.

  “Did you know that she represented the family that owns this hotel?” Hulan asked.

  “The Wangs, yes. I enjoy Madame Wang’s company myself when I’m in Hong Kong. She’ll be sorry to hear what happened.”

  “Did you spend the night on board your boat?” Hulan inquired, shifting her focus.

  “Of course. My daughter did too.”

  Hulan thought about asking him about the conversation she’d overheard him having with Catherine yesterday but decided against it. Hulan had been the headstrong daughter of a headstrong man. Her only hope for a remotely honest answer was from Catherine.

  “At lunch yesterday you mentioned the All-Patriotic Society. Do you know if Lily was a member?”

  If he was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it.

  “That would be very hard to imagine.”

  “You’re sure she wasn’t a follower?”

  “Let me put it this way, Inspector,” Stuart answered adroitly. “Lily was about as secular as you can get. If she practiced a religion, it would have to have been free enterprise.”

  “Do you know of anyone else in the hotel or affiliated with the dig who could be a member?”

  “It’s good manners not to talk politics or religion—” Seeing the look on Hulan’s face, he added, “No, not that I know of.”

  “How about you or your daughter?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Thank you. Now I have just one last question and you can be on your way. Why did you come to the guesthouse for breakfast?”

  “I didn’t. Like I said, I’m going down to the dam, but Catherine’s going to stay here. I came up to say good-bye to everyone.” Hulan waited until Stuart explained sheepishly, “I was trying to be polite.”

  Hulan smiled again. “You see, Mr. Miller, that wasn’t so bad. You can go, but I’d like you to leave contact information so I can reach you if need be.”

  “No problem,” he said as he stood. “And I want to apologize for my earlier outburst.”

  “No apology needed. Have a good trip, and don’t—”

  “Leave the country?” Stuart grinned, shook his head in amusement, then ducked out the front door and into the rain.

  While Hom went for another foreigner, Hulan jotted down some notes. Stuart Miller probably thought the world revolved around him, and to some extent it probably did, but that didn’t mean he had anything to do with Lily’s murder. At least Hulan hoped it didn’t, because she liked him. He was charming in the way he tried to dominate through humor. On the other hand, lots of killers were charismatic, loved to take control, and were—like Stuart—chauvinists.

  She interviewed Professor Schmidt and Dr. Quinby, who had nothing to add, except that they felt terrible about Lily’s death. Then Hom brought in Michael Quon. It was interesting how each of these people responded to the situation—with acute sadness, mild belligerence, musty indifference, or a desire for control in an uncontrollable situation. Michael Quon managed to work in all of these emotions.

  He’d seen Lily in the dining room last night, but he hadn’t spoken to her then or later. He liked her as a person, but he didn’t have much respect for her profession. “It’s not personal,” he said. “I just don’t like the idea of artifacts falling into non-Chinese hands.”

  “Do you mean foreign hands or non-Chinese hands?”

  He regarded her quizzically. “I’m not sure I understand your question.”

  “Well, you’re Chinese but you’re a foreigner.”

  “I’m Chinese American.”

  “And?”

  “I’m of the belief that artifacts should be repatriated no matter what country they’re from.”

  His manner was frank and his body language relaxed. His dark eyes never left hers. It was unusual for a Chinese to be so insinuatingly direct.

  “Mr. Quon—”

  “Dr. Quon,” he corrected.

  “Dr. Quon, are you an archaeologist?”

  “Do I look like one?”

  Of course he didn’t. That was why she’d asked. He was completely unlike any of the others she’d spoken to this morning,
and she included Stuart Miller in that assessment. Michael Quon wore slacks, which had kept their creases even in the heat and humidity. The top two buttons of his silk shirt were unbuttoned, and she could see his pulse throb in the hollow of his neck. None of those stiff hiking boots for him. Instead he wore soft leather shoes. His fingernails were clean and trimmed. His hands were smooth and callus free. And, she realized, not only did he acquiesce to her scrutiny but he seemed to savor it. No, he wasn’t like the others at all.

  “I have an interest in archaeology,” he said at last, “but I’m not one by training.”

  “Then what is your field?”

  He considered the question. “I guess you could say my specialty is mathematics.”

  “If that’s so, then why are you here?”

  “It is so, and I’m here because the reservoir will begin filling next year. I wanted to see this while I could—”

  Hulan interrupted him, hoping to disrupt his rhythm. “Let’s get back to what happened to Miss Sinclair. Where is your room in relation to hers?”

  “I’m in the fourth courtyard, the same as you and your husband,” he responded.

  “Did you hear anything last night?”

  “Just the rain.”

  That was all David and Hulan had heard too.

  “And you were in your room—”

  “Until this morning, yes.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “How well did you know Brian McCarthy?”

  “I met him last year when I came through. We did some caving together.”

  “Caving?”

  “Spelunking, if you prefer. We explored caves.” He hesitated, then said, “When I arrived this year, he was already missing.” He rose. “If there’s any other way I can help….”

  “That’s everything for now….”

  “But?”

  He was smooth, this one.

  “But nothing,” she said abruptly. “You’re dismissed.”

  She’d wanted to ask him other questions. Had he planned to go to the dig today? If so, why was he wearing those particular clothes? What kind of a mathematician was he? Did he teach? Where? And what was he really doing here? Had he been invited? By whom? Had he heard of the All-Patriotic Society? But her desire to have Michael Quon out of her sight had outweighed her desire for answers.